Sons of Ice, Daughters of Fire
by Eilean Donan
Summary: Snow White, retold. Magic and fantasy, romance, adventure, and a host of characters who kick ass. R&R pretty please :
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

In a far-away land of ice and snow, where wolves howled about the sheep-pens all winter and ghosts lurked in the shadows of dark firs, a Lady waited, high in her tower chamber above the expanse of snow and ice. Copper-gold flames roared in the hearth and kept the freezing winds at bay, and her feet were encased in wolf-fur slippers. She heeded not the winter, did not notice the bone-cracking cold or hear the voiceless moans of the ghosts of the waste. She waited, patient and unhurried, for the return of a traveller.

She greeted him now, her eyes sparkling with delight as he knelt to her and presented his gift.

Weeks had passed since he'd left her lands in search of a rare treasure, and for weeks she'd sat in her chamber, surrounded by her silks and velvets and the cold light of the icy sky, hoping for his return. He was here now, kneeling before her, his clothes outlandish and his skin tanned gold. She, who had never left her own lands, was fascinated. And he'd grown. Barely more than a boy when he'd left, he was now a man through and through, with fine muscles from weeks at sea and weeks on the road, and a quiet confidence that made her wish just for a moment that he wasn't so beneath her in status. Not that that had always stopped her. Not all the time.

The young traveller rose to his feet at the Lady's command and laid a box of carved exotic wood on her lap. She smiled, pleasure curving her lips upward, and her eyes held the gleam of wicked greed.

'Cherry-wood and rose-wood, my Lady,' he said, as her fingers traced the intricate carvings. 'A fine example of workmanship. But inside is what you really want.'

'Ah, yes. Thank you, Erwillian.' She flicked the catch up and lifted the lid, her breath catching in her throat. He was right. Inside was the real treasure.

Her eyes turned dark. 'By all the…..'

Erwillian licked his lips nervously. 'It is the last of its kind, my Lady.'

She lifted the mirror out of the silk-lined case, her tongue pink against the cherry-red of her full lips. The traveller swallowed. She was a creature of beauty, right enough, but there was about her that erotic dreaminess that caused many men to suffer fiery dreams, their hands reaching between their legs to grasp what she'd excited, waking after the fact heavy with fulfilment and shame. He shifted uncomfortably.

She looked up, her fingers still caressing the delicate filigree of the mirror's back. Its face was black; onyx, she thought, or black jade from the deserts. And it would show anything she wished to see, tell her any truth she wished to hear. It was hers, this last of its kind, the others having been destroyed by the Limean sorcerers who defamed all such magics as evil.

The young traveller, aware that he wasn't wanted but still hadn't been dismissed, coughed discreetly. She looked up.

'You may go, Erwillian,' she said, and he bowed himself out of her presence with relief.

_Now. How to use this?_

She thought it would work like a scrying bowl, and, taking it to her bed, settled herself comfortably on the silk cushions, the mirror lying loose in her hands. Her mind stilled, her thoughts calm, she asked the one question she knew the answer to. If the mirror gave her that answer, she would know it worked.

'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?'


	2. A Disappearance

Jaille burned in the sun. Unrelentless, scorching heat pounded the cobblestones and flared back again into the eyes of the citizens. Red-tiled roofs blazed like fire, and the sea sparkled azure. The Royal City of Jaille was a jewel in the Southern Sea, and the hub of the Empire. To the North were the wild desert Plains of Herigalesse, and to the East and South East were the countries of Karon and Eshkaron, rival states though no war had been fought between them for fifty years.

Roses bloomed in the courtyards of the castle; flowers of deep red and delicate pink, vibrant yellow and orange, all vying for space as they hugged the pale golden stones of the walls. Summer in that part of the world blew in across the Southern Sea, bringing with it flocks of brightly-coloured birds, and tall ships from islands most men had never sailed to. They jostled together in the harbour, glittering swans of white canvas and bleached wood, with here and there a gilded prow-head glinting like fire in the sun.

Lucianus Alexander Caeto paused on the quay to rest, dropping his heavy canvas sack from his shoulders to his feet and stretching cramped muscles. His back cracked satisfyingly, and he grinned at a passing servant girl, on her way to one of the port's bathhouses with a basket of fresh soap. The quay burned in the sun, and Alexander with it, though not for anything would he have risked removing the thick wool cap that hid his hair. Pale gold, fine as spun silk, it marked him as Limean and therefore a scourge on Jaille that its citizens were urged to rid themselves of. The fact that he was also a thief would have doubly damned him, were anyone to find out. He took care that they didn't.

Unnoticed, he filched a clay cup of cool wine from a passing wine-seller, and crouched by his sack to drink it, slipping the vessel into the sack with his other acquisitions once he'd finished. It was a good haul, taken mainly from a back-alley shrine to some God he'd never bent knee to. He had two silver candlesticks, and a salt-plate of beaten gold. It would buy him and his men several weeks' worth of supplies, once he sold it in Karon, the other side of Tarnbreck Forest. He could barely wait to get back to the wood - at least under the trees the heat didn't burn the way it did here in the city.

A shadow fell across his vision, and he looked up.

'Felix,' he smiled, 'I was beginning to think you'd got lost, or worse.'

'You wish,' retorted Felix. A first-class thief, and an excellent eavesdropper, Felix was also Limean, and wore his hair bound in a silk kerchief that picked out the gold flecks in his green eyes. He nudged the sack with his boot. 'What's in that?'

'I'll tell you later. For now, we'd best be going.'

'You've never said a truer word,' said Felix as Alexander picked up the sack and swung it over his shoulder. 'Here's some news for you: the Queen's Guard are crawling all over Jaille like fleas in a doghouse.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. Rumours are out, I've heard, for the King's daughter. Apparently, she's run off.' Felix swiped the end of his kerchief across his face and grimaced. 'Cursed heat! One day I swear I'll go back home.'

'And be back again as soon as you get sick of the ice,' said Alexander as they turned onto a wide promenade lined with merchant booths. Silk and silver gleamed in the sun, and the scents of spiced pasties wafted to them on the gentle sea breeze. His stomach rumbled, but he knew they could not afford to stop and eat just yet. 'Why has the princess disappeared?'

Felix grinned cheekily. 'Not sure, but I have heard that she and the Queen had a disagreement. Must have been serious for the girl to disappear like that. I did go to Raoul's place but he hasn't seen her.'

Alexander paused, puzzlement creasing his brow. He remembered Meliande as a small child, still in tail clouts, when once he'd been a servant in the palace. Tiny, elf-like, with black hair and white skin, and a rosebud for a mouth. But that was sixteen years ago. If she'd carried that beauty into womanhood, she'd be a knockout. It was common knowledge that she spent a great deal of time in a certain quayside tavern owned by an ex-pirate called Raoul, and that the King had not been able to put an end to that. Meliande was willful, stubborn, and had a temper to rival the Queen's. And he never went to Raoul's, never went within a mile of where she might be. He valued his life too much, and she'd be bound to let slip to the Queen if she saw him.

He shifted the sack to the other shoulder and wiped the sweat from his forehead. 'Any idea where she has gone then?'

Felix shrugged. 'Not really, no. But I do know that if the Queen's turned out the Guard to find her, then…I don't know. But it doesn't sound good. And we don't want to be here when they start searching the quay, so shall we go, Lucian?'

They slipped into an alley, and from there into another street that took them through the quieter areas of the town to the outskirts. From there it was a quick trek through a park and onto a farmer's track into the gently rolling country surrounding Jaille. The Forest was visible in the distance, and in its midst, the towering, snow-tipped peak of Eagle's Eyrie. Their home was in the caves at the mountain's foot, deep in the forest where even the hunter's tracks didn't venture. Legend said that once a dragon had lived there, and perhaps still did, but this wasn't enough to keep Alexander out of the Eyrie. He and Felix made a killing selling eagle eggs to the lords of Karon. One day, Alexander mused, he'd retire to Karon and set up his own palace, but for now the Forest suited him – and it suited him to rob Jaillites. The occasional trip into Jaille was worth it, but enough rich merchants came through the forest on their way to Karon that Alexander didn't need to go to the city very often. And when he went, it was news he sought, more than gold.

'Lord Fell was wanting another egg, when we can get him one,' said Felix, as if sensing his friend's thoughts. 'It's a gift. For his eighth son, I think. There'll be more eagles in Karon than in the Eyrie at this rate!'

'He pays well,' said Alexander. 'See to it he gets one. It's your turn to go up there.'

'Somehow I thought it would be,' groaned Felix with mock despair, and Alexander laughed. The Eyrie was a hostile climb, but there was no egg thief better than Felix and they both knew it. He'd been raised to it, the son of a Limean witch and a desert thief, one of the most famous in history. He looked up at the Eyrie. 'Might go to the top this time. See what I can see!'

'Probably all of Jaille and Karon too,' said Alexander, not much interested. 'Be sure to tell me what the view's like when you get back down won't you?'

It was near dark by the time they reached the caverns, and a warm summer wind was whispering through the trees and silencing the rest of the Forest. A soft glow of a fire guided them to the cave entrance, and a man came forth to greet them. Black Karoni eyes glinted at them from under a wide-brimmed leather hat, his leather tunic stained with blood. He held up the reason for the blood with a smile.

'We got lucky,' he said. 'One brace of wood-cock! Make a change from salt-pig.'

'Indeed! It's about time, Russi,' said Alexander. 'I've had enough of that damn pig!' He eyed the birds hungrily as Russi threaded a third onto a long iron spit, ready for roasting. Russi nodded at the sack Alexander had dumped on the ground.

'You've been busy,' he said.

Alexander nudged the sack with his foot. It clanked softly. Russi's mouth split into a grin.

'Ah,' he said. 'Gold, and silver…but wait until you see our prize.'

'Why? Where have you been?'

For answer, Russi turned and disappeared into the cavern with an enigmatic smile, beckoning Alexander to follow him.

'Here,' Russi said, 'give us a light will you?'

Alexander cupped his hands and blew on them gently. A faint pale glow, tinged with blue, showed through his fingers, and grew in strength and intensity as he drew his hands slowly apart, leaving a small ball of glowing blue light hanging in the air near his chest. He forced it upwards towards the ceiling, and then looked to see what Russi had got.

Russi glanced at the light. 'You're in a mellow mood this evening,' he said. He bent, drew back a corner of a heavy cloth, and gestured for Alexander to come closer. 'I've been up the Eyrie, almost to the top. There's a cave up there – a network like this one I should think – and this is what we found.'

Alexander knelt, his hand reaching toward the large mottled blew egg in wonder.

'A blue eagle egg,' he half-whispered. He'd heard of the blue eagle from Karoni traders and hunters, but so far none of the people who'd told him had seen one for themselves. Whilst eagle eggs could fetch their weight in gold in both Jaille and Karon, and further afield too, a blue eagle egg was worth far more.

'You know what I was thinking?' Russi dropped to his haunches beside Alexander. 'I was thinking we could sell this in Eshkaron. The king there would give his eyes for such an egg – and we could hire an army, buy weapons, and take Ja…'

'Do not dare to say it,' said Alexander in a savage whisper. 'And keep this secret! If the Queen gets so much of a whiff of this, she'll burn Tarnbreck to the ground to flush us out.' He flipped the cloth back over the egg and stood up. 'Who else knows?'

'Just myself, Taki, and Janus,' he said. 'They were with me when we discovered the nest.'

'Taki's Karoni,' said Alexander. 'Keep her silent. And tell no-one else.'

He snapped his fingers and the light winked out, leaving the cave once more in darkness. He was aware of a cold trickle of sweat down the back of his tunic, and he took a deep, shuddering breath to try and clear his heart of the anxiety that gripped it.

Far from being the god-sent gift Russi thought it, the blue eagle egg had placed them all in a far greater danger than ever.


	3. The Fugitive

_'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?'_

It was a question she'd asked often. Not quite daily, but near to. And always the answer was the same, and satisfied her. She'd preen and smile and don her richest gown and preen some more, and her mood for the rest of the day would be sunny.

But not today.

Today, the answer had been shockingly different, so that she'd howled like a lone wolf, like a lone _mad_ wolf, before putting out the eyes of the nearest servant, a young woman too new to the castle to know to get out of the way.

Today, the Mirror had spoken with a sly cast to his voice. He'd drawn out his words, clipping off the consonants with relish, and told her in no uncertain terms that she was no longer the fairest in the land. Her crown would be lost to a younger, prettier girl, and one she knew well.

The Lady paced her chambers with a staccato step, her heels striking the cold marble of the floor like angry hammers echoing through the silence. It was not a comfortable silence; her retainers barely dared draw breath for fear of drawing her attention to themselves. They were used to her changes in temper, they were used to having priceless glass thrown at them, they were used to delicate china being hurled across the room to shatter into a thousand pieces. What they were not used to was the order she'd just given, two words hissed from between clenched teeth:

'_Kill_ her.'

It was the Mirror that was to blame, they knew. Few had seen it for what it really was, and those who had were too afraid to speak of what they'd seen. It was not Limean magic. It was far, far older than that, and knew neither good nor evil. It was what it was, and only the hand that wielded that magic could lay claim to any morality, and the Lady had just left hers behind.

And yet, there were none of them there who would dare to disobey.

* * *

><p>Meliande had done the first thing she could think of when she'd learned of the Lady's plot to kill her, and run for Karon. The Karoni lords were bound to give her sanctuary, and if the Lady pursued her into Karon, it would be considered an invasion. <em>Am I worth a war?<em> she wondered. _Is anyone?_

The guard had been doubled, but they were a guard whose deeper loyalties were hers, and they let her by, slipping into the garderobe and down the shute into the mire of the moat. Blind eyes, everywhere; Meliande hoped and prayed that none watching her go were Elisabeta's men. She'd dressed in man's clothing purloined from the Steward, and she hurried unchallenged to Raoul's tavern on the wharf.

'Raoul!' she yelled as she slammed in through the door. '_Raoul_! I need help - a boat, or whatever, I just need to get out of Jaille!'

Alarm flickered over his face, then he rallied, yanking up a trapdoor to the cellar below. 'Down here, quick. The cellar leads out into tunnels that empty into the harbour. Captain Hayes is in port; seek him and he'll hide you. But for the love of Damacest, what have you _done_?'

'_Done_?' she half shrieked. 'I haven't _done_ anything, except exist! That bitch has decided I'm too bloody good to live. I should have stuck a knife in her years ago, like you said.' She dropped lightly into the cellar, only a few feet below, and looked up. 'I'm going to Karon. I know Captain Hayes and his destinations - I go with him and I'll never come back.'

Raoul snorted. 'If he'd even take you after all! Make for Tarnbreck. I'll set the trail for Limea on the Captain's ship.'

'Don't, Raoul.' Meliande shook her head vigorously. 'If they learn you're consorting with someone who sails for Limea, you and he both will die. You know the Law as well as I do. Set another trail.' She reached up and grasped the hand he held down to her, then disappeared into the dark of the cellar. Feeling her way along the rows of contraband brandy and ice-wines, she followed her nose to the tunnels, full of seawater and rotting seaweed. The place stank, and would probably go off like an alchemist's explosion if anyone brought a naked flame here, but it was but a short way out of the tunnels into the harbour. She emerged spluttering and gasping, for the water had been neck-deep in places, and found herself right under the quay.

She froze. Above her, two men were talking in hushed tones, and she could hear the muffled clank of what sounded suspiciously like metal. Worse than that was the lilt of their accents. These two were not Jailli, and she held her breath, horrified at the thought of two Limeans a mere three feet away as she inched carefully along the harbour wall, heading out towards the sea.

She waited, cold and wet, until twilight. The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, and the city's lamps were not yet lit. A perfect time for slipping out of Jaille while the shadows were still long, and she took the opportunity and ran.

* * *

><p>Flavian nocked an arrow to his string, and drew. 'Trespasser,' he muttered, much to the amusement of his companion, who sniggered then muffled the sound in his sleeve. Flavian shut one eye, and took aim.<p>

His friend reached out and shook his arm. 'She's just a girl, Flavian. And I take it you haven't noticed she already has a tracker?'

'You and your damn hawk eyes, Larenti. A tracker? Where?'

Larentius pointed. 'There, and he knows we're here.' He held up his hand. '_Ignis_!' A small flame appeared in his palm, illuminating the forest and driving back the shadows. 'We can see you, we can see you both,' he half sang under his breath, and Flavian lowered his bow.

'And now they can both see _us_,' he sighed. He reached up and doused the light, cursing as ice crackled along his veins. He was certain he'd never learn to master his own magic, flinging ice around indiscriminately and freezing himself in the process. He shoved his cold hand into his sleeve.

'So what now?' Larentius squinted into the gloom, but his vision had been ruined by the light he'd cast and he could see nothing. He cursed roundly.

Flavian grinned. 'What a choice. Let them go, shoot them, or take them to Lucian? Whichever way, they're doomed.'

A sudden yell sounded from the trees, along with a scuffling. The two archers heard stones scattering down the nearby ravine, and something heavier hurtling to the bottom with them.

'I'll go down,' Larenti said. 'You take care of the hunter.' He was off in a trice, a silent shadow slipping through the trees as he hurried down the steep path that led to the bottom of the ravine. Flavian sighed and went in search of the hunter, his long knife in his hands ready to use if need be.

* * *

><p>Meliande groaned, and rolled over, every bone in her body feeling as if it had been thoroughly battered. She'd been doing well in the dark of the woods, until the light had suddenly appeared and blinded her, destroying her night vision and causing her to step off the ledge and into a ravine. A ravine at least fifty feet deep, and probably more. She felt as if she'd been falling forever, and hit every damn tree root and thorn bush and jagged rock outcrop on the way down.<p>

She felt for broken bones, and, satisfied there were none, attempted to stand. Her right ankle felt sore, and she tested her weight on it before trying to drag herself up.

A scattering of small stones and earth alerted her that she wasn't alone and she looked round fearfully, eyes straining in the deepening dusk.

'No cause for alarm, lady,' said a soft voice, and two strong hands took her by the shoulders and helped her up. 'Can you walk? Or shall I carry you?'

She tentatively rested her weight on her bruised ankle. 'I think I can walk,' she said through gritted teeth. The idea of being carried the-gods-knew-where by a complete stranger didn't appeal to her. His hands felt iron-strong, and the grip he held her in said _do not try to run, you will not get far._

'Who are you?' she asked. 'I warn you, I have a knife.'

_'Had,_ actually,' he smirked as he slipped an arm round her waist. 'I thought it prudent to relieve you of it. And I'm Larentius. Your rescuer. You're welcome, by the way.'

'I don't need rescuing,' said Meliande, but clung to him nonetheless, wincing in pain.

'Of course you don't,' said Larentius. 'I suppose you _intended_ to fall down here. It's the quickest way down after all! Let's get you back to the caves before it gets really dark. If you're sure you can walk? No broken bones? I can easily knit them whole again if there are.'

Meliande chewed that over, not quite understanding him. And then she saw his pale hair, twists of sunlight-gold gleaming softly in the shadows. Limean! He was Limean!

He chuckled darkly.

'I know what you're thinking, but I'm no demon,' he said. 'But... yes, I am a sorcerer.' He waggled the fingers of his free hand in front of her eyes. 'Woooh, woooh. Shall I turn you into a toad?'

'Knock it off!' Meliande snapped. 'I'm not a child to be scared of old tales. I could just as easily turn _you_ into mincemeat – and I don't need magic!'

His laughter rang through the wood, and Meliande winced. If he didn't shut up, he'd bring the Lady's men down on them! But his mirth subsided as quickly as it had erupted, and he set to tying a rope about her waist.

'We have to climb,' he explained, 'and this will help if you slip. You can get up the path without a rope but it's steep and I don't think your ankle's as sound as you're trying to make out. So I'll go first, and drag you up after me. It's not far, don't worry.'

'I can manage,' she insisted, but gave the steep path ahead of them an anxious look. What was at the top? The mysterious caves he'd mentioned? More Limean sorcerers? She suppressed a shudder, and received a reassuring squeeze from Larentius. Perhaps he was right, and she had nothing to worry about after all. Perhaps she'd be safe here.


	4. Tarnbreck

The caves, Meliande discovered, were a vast network of caverns cut into the side of the ravine. The cavern Larentius took her to seemed nothing more than a small opening hidden behind a tumbling mass of holly, but once inside, it opened immediately out into a wide chamber. A hearth had been built at the back, complete with a chimney through which blue smoke curled, and the cavern was lit with several balls of pale blue light. She thought they looked like tiny moons, hanging high above the men who sat there. Two played a game of chance on a rough wooden board, their pale hair glowing faintly blue in the light. Another lounged with his back against the wall of the raised hearth, idly plucking a stringed instrument. Its sweet tones were soothing, like a little cascade of tiny crystal bells.

But it was the man sitting cross-legged on the hearth, a sack of silver at his feet, who commanded her attention.

He put aside the silver cup he'd been polishing and rose. 'Princess.'

As a greeting, it lacked courtesy or finesse, the word bitten off at the end as his mouth twisted in annoyance.

'We found her at the bottom of the ravine,' said Larentius. 'Flavian's coming up with a hunter, too. It was a toss-up between shooting them both or bringing them here - you won.' He helped Meliande to a seat near the fire, a rough chair of stout tree limbs with the bark still on, and moss too in places. She sat with a grimace, and accepted a cup of hot wine poured from a pitcher on the edge of the fire. Poor quality wine, and with too much honey, but she drank it all down, suddenly grateful for any kindness or comfort. She had never felt so tired in her life.

'I fell,' she explained. 'There was a light and I couldn't see any more, and I missed my footing and fell. Larentius helped me back up.'

'Marvellous,' said the man who seemed to be their leader. His tone was dry, his eyes held no humour as he looked her over. Meliande held his stare, her sense of rank and status refusing her the option of looking away. Eyes of soft, deep green gazed at her, lit with golden fire. A few tendrils of pale hair had escaped the wool cap he wore, clinging to his shoulders in sweaty tangles. He wasn't young. Fine lines scored the corners of his mouth, and at the corners of his eyes, yet his skin was still smooth and he stood tall. His long limbs held strength and agility, and his hair shone like spun silk in the firelight. His face was hard. She thrust her chin out in defiance.

'Who are you?' she demanded.

'Lucianus Alexander Caeto,' he answered promptly. 'Don't bother to introduce yourself. I know who you are.'

She looked him up and down scornfully. She'd seen a Limean once before, watching him hang on Jaille's gallows with his pale hair loose and wind-whipped for all to see. She hadn't seen what was so horrible about them, but the citizens of Jaille evidently did, for they'd pelted him with rotting fish as he'd passed, shackled in the gallows cart. That had been before her tutors had educated her. Now, she knew Limeans to be sorcerers, and quite possibly violent murderers as well. Some even said there was a Limean ritual wherein they murdered the first child to be born at Midsummer, drenching ancient stone tables with its innocent blood…..

Her eyes flickered to Alexander's sack.

'I violated a shrine to Damacest,' he said. 'I stripped it of everything.'

'Then you're a heretic, and a heathen, as well as a thief and outlaw!'

'_And_ Limean,' he said with a bitter smile. He folded his arms and returned her scrutiny with as much rudeness she'd displayed. 'You might wonder why I don't take a ship back to my former home, but the truth is, I find it much more lucrative to stay here and pilfer your shrines and rob your noblemen. There's a lot that will fetch a good price in Karon. And, they still buy slaves.'

She gaped at him, horrified. 'You wouldn't!'

Alexander reached out and wrapped her wrist in an iron grip. 'Don't count on it, princess. I'm a hard man and I do what needs to be done to keep myself and my men alive. I suggest you do nothing to endanger us.' He let her go as abruptly as he'd grabbed her, and folded his arms once more. 'Now. You had better tell us what you're doing here.'

'I don't have to tell you that.' She held his gaze, a few moments more, then her will crumbled and she looked away. Lying to him would be foolish.

'I'm surprised you got nothing more than a few bruises from that fall down the ravine,' said Alexander, changing tack. 'You're tougher than you look. But tell me – why did Erwillian want you dead?'

'Where's my bow?' Meliande asked. She was shocked at his question, but long training at court had taught her how to hide her feelings. _But what...what is Erwillian..? Dead...me?_

'Broken. I've sent Felix to look for another bow stave for you - you'll need it. Now answer the question.'

Meliande sighed. 'The Lady Elisabeta ordered my execution. I don't know why. We've never got on, but...'

'She's a ruthless woman,' Alexander interrupted. 'But I suspect there's more to it. What, I don't know. All I know is you're safe _here_, and nowhere else. You can't go on.'

'Won't I be in the way?'

'No,' Alexander smiled, 'you can cook and clean, sew and do the laundry. And if you're handy enough with that bow, you can hunt too.'

Her jaw dropped in dismay. Clean? Cook? Servants did those things!

'I can't cook,' she said. 'And I _won't_ clean. I'm a princess!'

'You're an _outlaw_,' he snapped. 'And we're risking life and limb as it is – with you here it'll be even worse. So if you want to eat our food, you'll share our chores. Or, I could send you off to the Karoni slave traders….'

And that was that. She knew he was right; she was safer here than anywhere else, for though they were outlaws, they were Limean, and enemies of the Lady. They would do whatever it took to prevent Elisabeta finding her.

She got up and hobbled back outside, perching on a fallen tree trunk at the side of the path. Alexander didn't follow her and she didn't want him to. How could he, an outlaw, understand her situation? She couldn't remain here forever, no matter how safe it was. She had to get her throne back, and dispose of that cow Elisabeta. There was no question about that. _How_ was another matter altogether. She couldn't do it by herself, that was for certain.

'It's warmer inside, princess.' Alexander had pushed aside the holly and now stood watching her, silhoutted against the cavern opening. From inside came the scents of roasting meat, and she realised she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact. He came to sit by her, his face softened with a glimmer of sympathy.

'Look,' he said, and placed his hands together. She watched, fascinated and yet terrified as he drew his hands slowly apart, a faint, pale glow beginning to show between them until he held a ball of pale blue, like the miniature moons that lit the cave.

Alexander's hair sparked and crackled with the electricity the power he was currently moulding generated. Pale strands of silk floated in the air around his grave face, accompanied by tiny balls of golden light that looked little more than dust-motes shining in the spring sun. Her jaw dropped as Alexander began to gather those motes in his hands, moulding them into a ball of light, which he then flung at a rotting tree stump. It shattered with a shower of sparks, and he grinned in triumph.

'_That_ is what your stepmother, and your countrymen, are so afraid of,' he said. He sat down, drew his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms round them. Meliande returned him stare for stare, used to being gawped at by the common folk, but Alexander was far from common. She was beginning to realise that here in the forest, her title meant nothing. Here, she was nothing more than an inconvenient woman, and a dangerous one too.

'Are you afraid too?' He smiled at her, a smile that touched his eyes this time, but only just.

Blushing, she dropped her eyes, and sprang to her feet.

'I'll be on my way to Karon in the morning,' she said.

'No you won't.'

'What?'

Alexander rose slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving her face. 'The Karoni will send you straight back to Jaille,' he told her sternly. 'And whatever Elisabeta wants done to you, will be done.'

Meliande's mouth turned down at the corners, her lower lip trembling a little. She refused to cry, not in front of this stern man who could mould and control spirit power. A _Limean._

'Erwillian will have got back to her already,' she whispered. 'He'll tell her where I am, and of you. None of us are safe here, Lucianus Alexander. So let me go to Karon, and when her men come calling, you won't have me to worry about.'

For answer, Alexander took her by her wrist and propelled her back into the caves. His expression, softened the last few moments, now seemed harder still, and Meliande chewed her lip to keep the tears at bay.

He snapped his fingers, and the shadows came alive, twisting and snarling like dragons in the night. She yelped and cowered, and let him lay her down on a bed, pulling the blankets over her with a jerk of his arm. 'Go to sleep,' he told her. 'We'll talk more in the morning. Don't bother to try and escape. I'm warding the entrance tonight.'

'If I'm ever able to return to my home and throne, it won't be Elisabeta you'll fear,' she snarled at him as he pinched out the candles in her tiny sleeping chamber. 'It'll be_ me_. I swear on my crown that I will hang you one day, Lucianus Alexander - you, and your filthy men!'

'Good _night_, princess,' said he, and let the heavy leather door curtain drop behind him, and she was left in darkness.


	5. Seeds of Doubt

_'Lucianus Alexander, pay attention.'_

_The pale-haired young scholar snapped back to reality, focussing with a grim determination on his books and not the wild fantasies in his head. He'd been riding free across the ice, chasing down dragons and rescuing princesses from ice-giants, a magnificent blue eagle soaring above him in the blistering violet of the sky._

_'Daydreaming again? How do you expect to master magic if you won't learn your lessons?'_

_Alexander looked up at his tutor, a tall man with the same pale hair as he, and gave what he thought was a winsome smile._

_'Ah, but, Carelli, you said that magic was one-third visualisation,' he said, with only a hint of insolence. 'And what is daydreaming but visualisation?'_

_'Are you likely to manifest those dreams?' Carellius rapped his knuckles sharply on the boy's desk. 'Not until you master the concepts of magic, and as you rightly pointed out, though visualisation is one-third of magic, that leaves two-thirds you have yet to learn. I won't tell you again. Now, read over that passage once more and demonstrate its applications, so I know you've understood.'_

_That was the trouble with Carellius, thought Alexander, sighing loudly as he bent his head to his books again. The man was a born slave-driver, and thorough with it. He never missed a thing, not even if those things were being dreamt up in someone's head. Especially if it was _his_ head._

_If only he hadn't been born with such an aptitude for magic. He'd never thought to become a mage, preferring the heroic possibilities of life as a warrior, or perhaps a seafarer or traveller. Tales of far-off places intrigued him, not the dry, dusty volumes of ancient invocations he was currently slaving over. Mages were old men, grey old men who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders, weary scholars who never laughed. He tried to keep that image in his head even as he glared at Carellius, whose thirty years didn't show and whose grey eyes sparkled with sunshine. _

_'Are you ready?' asked Carellius._

_Alexander raised his hands with a sigh. 'I'm ready, Carelli.'_

_'Good, then proceed.'_

_Closing his eyes, Alexander uttered the incantation that called the sylphs, the tiny, wicked spirits of aether known as siabhra. Raw energy crackled about him, lifting strands of his hair from its long braid and tugging insistently at his scalp. He gathered it in, eyes still squeezed shut as he formed a ball of light with his hands, moulding it as if he moulded a ball from clay._

_'Expand,' said Carellius' voice on the edge of his hearing, and he realised there was a roaring in his ears, as if of tides or the beat of great wings._

_And then he felt the constriction in his chest, and he fought for breath, struggling against the crushing weight of the siabhraec energy as they sought to kill the one who controlled them. There was an incantation that could bind them, banish them, but the words would not come. There was only panic, and pain._

_He sank to his knees, gasping, and amid the roaring he heard the whip-crack sharp bark of Carellius' voice as he snapped out the invocation that banished the siabhra._

_Alexander found himself hauled up by his collar as his vision cleared and his breathing slowed._

_'And that's why you need to pay attention,' snarled his tutor, and gave him a little shake. 'You can spend the afternoon swotting up on alchemy. Surely that is something you can do without it killing you!'_

_Alexander groaned. He hated alchemy almost as much as he hated history, but he'd annoyed Carellius, and Carellius when he was annoyed could make life very difficult for those around him._

_Carellius gave his student's shoulder a squeeze. 'I didn't mean to shout. But what will I say to your father if anything happens to you?'_

_'Tell him I should have been a warrior.'_

_Alexander ducked an affectionate cuff from his tutor._

_'You'll be the pride and joy of Limea, one day,' Carellius said with a smile and a raised eyebrow, and left Alexander to his studies for the afternoon._

* * *

><p>Alexander woke with the sinking feeling that he should be somewhere else, the exile of twenty years stretching him and pulling him back toward the past, and his home. Above him, leaves of deep jewel green blazed under the sun above, dappling the forest floor with shadow and golden light as a gentle breeze blew them this way and that. No ice here; no spirits either, if he ignored the little sparks of light that drifted through the trees, ignoring him as much as he ignored them. He rarely engaged with them, and then only if he really needed to. He wasn't above trickery, and he'd harnessed the power of those little spirits to bend arrows mid-flight so that they missed their target, or to double back and hit the one who had fired them, if it were an enemy. Enemies were rarely encountered here in Tarnbreck. It was only when he went to Jaille that he found himself among men who'd kill him if they knew what he was, and then he'd never be able to use magic.<p>

And crushing him like six feet of black earth came the memory of the last Limean to die on Jailli soil, a victim of the Lady's fear that the mages would take her cursed Mirror if they found themselves with half a chance. Had Carellius wanted to do just that? He'd often spoken of the old magic, trying to educate Alexander and put him off at the same time.

_Dead should stay dead_, said Carellius' voice at the back of Alexander's. But in the same place was the knowledge that it needn't be.

_Necromancy._ Carellius had caught him reading the old books, the ancient scrolls that were normally kept in the library vaults. Alexander had stolen a key from the seneschal, duplicated it, and let himself in, taking the books back to his own chambers to read in private and away from his tutor's eagle eye. He'd received a sound birching for that misdemeanor, but no scourge could erase what was in the mind. Would it have been evil to bring Carellius back? He'd never know. The mage had been hanged and his body burned, and Alexander could not work that dark magic with nothing but dust.

He rolled out of his hammock with a grunt, and stretched out his muscles.

'Where's the princess?'

Flavian the Archer looked up from the arrows he was fletching, and shrugged. 'Taki was with her, trying to find her some more suitable clothes.'

'Hmmm.' Alexander shoved his thumbs in his belt and glowered at the forest. He wasn't happy that the princess was now in their keeping – she was headstrong and wilful and they would probably clash before long if she didn't bide by his rules. Rules that were there to keep his friends safe.

'In the back caves,' added Flavian, sensing Alexander's hesitation. 'Rifling through the coffers of old clothes you said we should get rid of.'

'We should. Then we'd not be able to clothe renegade princesses.' The princess's presence made him jittery and he didn't bother to hide it. 'I hope she doesn't think she's staying.'

Flavian bent his head to his arrows again. 'Why not? She's a good shot with a bow, and we need more archers. And I'm sure Raoul has taught her a few things.'

'Like what? How to swear?'

'Or how to drink,' laughed Flavian. 'No – the workings of the smuggling bays, what price, say, an eagle egg might fetch in far lands – among other things. People.'

Alexander's mouth twisted with distaste. Much as he liked Raoul, there were some things the man traded in that Alexander disapproved of. Slavery, in his opinion, should be beneath men. What price a man's life? Or a woman's, or a child's? He'd killed several Karoni slavers, and he'd seen how they treated their captives. Taki had been lucky when she escaped, and at least the scar she carried had been given to her in a fair fight and was not a mark of her captivity. He had regretted the slavers, his anger dissipating as fast as it had risen, but every time he looked at her he was reminded of how fragile all life was.

'I don't want her rooting about in the caverns,' he said crossly. 'And why isn't someone keeping an eye on her?'

'They _are_. Taki's with her,' said Flavian patiently. He put the arrows aside and looked up, hugging his knees. 'Why are you so worked up about the princess being here? Don't you think it's a golden opportunity to get our reputation revised?'

'What?'

'If the princess goes back to the Queen and says….'

'Exactly what I'm afraid of!' Alexander snarled. 'If she goes back to the Queen and says _anything_ about our presence here then we'll have a fight on our hands – one that sheer numbers on her side will win! Meliande isn't going back to Jaille. If she goes anywhere, it's into Karon in a slave cart.'

'You wouldn't!' Flavian looked shocked. He knew well Alexander's opinions on slavery, but he also knew his friend never issued empty threats. They hadn't remained alive in Tarnbreck for several years without that element of Alexander's nature, and though it shocked them, they knew whose good it was all for. Flavian hated the Jailli law, but he knew how much Alexander hated Jaillis. He'd never asked about Carellius beyond the initial questioning. He knew enough to know that if that old wound was reopened, Alexander would raze Jaille to the ground in revenge.

'She's come to us for sanctuary,' he said, as Alexander stood silent and fuming. 'We're going to be honorable about it, right?'

'I'd like to nail her to the nearest tree.'

'You wouldn't,' Flavian repeated. He waved a half-fletched arrow at Alexander, a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. 'I know you better than that. You haven't got the heart. You wouldn't so much as birch the girl for stealing cake.'

Alexander glowered darkly down at Flavian. '_Wouldn't_ I,' he growled, and stalked off into the caves in search of the princess.


	6. In Which Feathers Fly

'This should fit you,' said Taki, holding up a long leather coat. Its skirts had been decorated with metal rings, securely sewn on, and there was a dull brown stain on the right sleeve that looked suspiciously like blood. Old and dried, probably years old, but still blood. Meliande wondered whose it was.

'Karoni slaver,' said Taki, noticing the princess' grimace. 'Don't know about the blood. Could be anyone's. _Could_ just be an animal. Plenty hunters come through Tarnbreck, not just us.'

'Poachers,' said Meliande automatically. Taki laughed.

'If you say so. This part of Tarnbreck's been disputed for years, Meliande. Neither side really cares anymore about who actually owns it.'

'We still hang any poachers we catch,' retorted Meliande. She took the coat and put it on. The sleeves were a little too long, and the skirts hung to her ankles, but otherwise it was a good fit. Taki added a long belt and a baldrick, and two long knives, their sheaths old and cracked.

'No-one gets up this far without Alexander noticing,' she said, 'but better safe than sorry. You never know when you might need those knives.'

'And my bow?'

'Felix will see to it, and Flavian's fletching arrows now.'

Meliande wrinkled her forehead. She had barely spoken to Felix and Flavian, and they'd kept themselves to themselves. Neither seemed much older than boys. Boys who had magic, or so she assumed. They were Limean, and that was enough for her to view them with suspicion and fear. Larentius had been marginally more friendly, and Alexander...she didn't know what to make of Alexander. He seemed hard to her, a man without scruples or principles. Yet the men and women he'd gathered about him seemed to like him, and trust him. She thought that if even the sunny Larentius and the quiet, grave Flavian could love Alexander, then he couldn't be that bad.

'Get her out of here,' he said from the cavern entrance. 'I don't want Jailli gallows-whores hanging around these caves, you hear?'

Taki scrambled up, gathering Meliande's new things into her arms. 'She needed better gear than she had,' she protested. 'Or would you rather she swanned about in those silly things she brought from Jaille?'

Silly things? Meliande looked down at herself. Loose linen trews, a thin shirt and a brocade jacket. She'd thought they quite suited her, though the Steward would probably not think so.

'I don't care,' Alexander growled, pointing imperiously out the door. '_Out_, I said!'

Taki sighed and took Meliande's hand. 'Come on,' she said. 'Let's go.'

They sidled past Alexander, who glared at Meliande with baleful dark eyes. 'And I don't want to see you in here again.'

'Don't be such a pig, Lucian,' Taki sniffed, squeezing out past the man who refused to move an inch to let them past. Meliande found herself far too close to him, and looked up, reminding herself that she was royalty, and he nothing but outlaw scum. He stared down his nose at her, his eyes unreadable.

'She's right,' she said. 'You are a pig.'

'I know.' He grinned suddenly. He let the curtain drop behind them and followed the two women out into the sunshine, blinking and half-sneezing at the sudden brightness.

After the midday meal, Alexander beckoned Meliande to him. She went unwillingly, thinking he was going to tell her something she didn't want to hear.

He read her expression, then laughed. 'This isn't about Karoni slavers,' he said. 'At least, not in the way you're thinking. I suppose if you're staying I ought to explain a few things - and show you the paths we use that allow us to stay hidden from the road.' He picked up a twig and with it began to draw out a series of lines all emanating from a circle. She drew back, suddenly fearful.

'Nonono, you're not doing magic!'

'What?' He looked up at her with a puzzled frown. 'What are you on about?'

'Those symbols. Limean magic, I bet!'

'Ha, no, princess, just a map.' He beckoned her to sit again, and she obeyed reluctantly. 'This,' he pointed to the circle, 'is just the Eyrie. These lines are the paths. _Magic_! What the fuck did they teach you about my people?'

Meliande's cheeks burned. That was a spark of amused mockery in his eyes, she was sure. She hated to be mocked! Especially by foul-mouthed Limean mages. He had no right, he should learn some respect!

'They taught me what low, criminal scum you all are,' she said nastily. 'They told me you all should _swing_. And I agree!'

'Sorry you feel that way,' he snapped. 'I suppose after all you only need to know one path - the one to Karon. I'm sure you'll run into a slaver soon enough. Better than _me_ though, right?'

'_Anyone'_s better than you!' Meliande jumped to her feet, brushing assorted twigs and dead leaves from her skirts. 'Shall I take my chance in Karon? My second cousin is Lord Argon. I'm sure _he'd_ take me in.'

She flounced off before he could reply, narrowly missing slamming into Felix who'd come by with her new bow. He took a startled look at Alexander, then hurried after the princess.

She whirled on him as she began the descent to the bottom of the ravine, scuffling twigs and small stones as her foot slipped. She snatched at a low-hanging hazel branch to steady herself, and stood galring at the young man who had come after her.

'What?'

He held the bow out. 'It's finished. New bow.'

He reminded her of a rabbit caught in a snare, the bright light of a lamp shining into its frightened eyes. Then she felt ashamed. He'd only come to give her the bow. He didn't deserve her anger.

He turned his head at the sound of Larentius' voice from somewhere near the cavern entrance, and grinned. His hair, bound in a loosely-woven braid, swung free of his baldrick, and Meliande decided that if she was going to hate Alexander for being Limean, she'd better hate Felix too.

Felix turned back. 'Here,' he said, thrusting the bow at her. 'Gotta go help with the dishes. Try it out, see if you like it.' He flashed her a quick smile and ran back up the path, disappearing from her sight.

* * *

><p>Alexander lifted the corner of the thick wool covering he'd hidden the egg under. It showed no signs of hatching, and he judged it several weeks from doing so. He had two weeks to find a buyer who could keep his mouth shut. Maybe three. Or it would have to be destroyed. He did not want to be on the Eyrie when the chick hatched. Not for all the gold in the world would he have risked that. He doubted even Lord Fell and his cronies would be idiots enough to buy a blue eagle egg, and so he thought he would have to look farther afield than Karon. He could get out to Eshkaron, but getting across the border with such an egg would not be an easy feat, and if he botched it...he shook his head to clear it of the thought. He hadn't escaped a Jailli noose just to go and stick his neck in an Eshkaroni one.<p>

He let the wool drop back over the egg. _What am I to do?_ Blue eagle eggs...runaway princesses...he had his hands full, he knew. If one didn't bring his death, the other surely would.

He looked round, suddenly wary, as he felt a draught of cool air on his neck.

'What are you doing skulking in here, Lucian?' It was Felix, a thick slice of cheese in one hand and half a meat pie in the other. 'I'm going out to check the snares. Won't be back 'til after dusk.'

'Who's going with you?' Alexander didn't like his friends going out alone, and it was an unspoken rule that they didn't. Even if he broke that rule more often than not.

Felix swallowed a bite of cheese. 'Flavian,' he said, as if the answer was obvious. 'He knows where best to set snares. We're going along the Karoni border. Could nip into the Rising of the Moon for a barrel if you have the coins?'

Alexander grinned. The Rising of the Moon was their favourite haunt, the landlord a friend of theirs and famous for his red apple cider. 'See if he has a barrel of the red brandy,' he said. He fished in his money-pouch and took out several gold coins. 'More than it's worth but I owe him for the damage I caused last time I was there.'

'You did more than three _esse_ worth of damage, Lucian,' chuckled Felix. He pocketed the coins nonetheless. 'What shall I tell him if he protests your paltry offer?'

'Tell him to go to the darkest pit and burn,' Alexander suggested amiably. He ducked out of the cave past Felix, and stepped out into the warmth of the evening, blinking as his sight adjusted. The first thing he saw was Meliande, practicing her archery. Arrow after arrow flew from her string, thrumming through the air with unerring accuracy to embed in the tree stump she was using as target practice. Feathers floated in the air, punched violently out of their brocade cushion by her arrows' vicious points. Alexander gawped, then swore loudly, causing her to fumble the last arrow.

She whirled on him. 'Yes, it's your chair! And your damn cushion, which, by the way, I remember seeing in a temple only seven weeks ago!'

He gritted his teeth. 'Nailed down, was it? No, so I took it! No reason comfort shouldn't be had in the forest, though we live like vagabonds because of your dull-witted laws, _written_, may I add, by a woman who clearly needs a thorough seeing-to by a man instead of preening in front of that damn mirror all day and worrying if she's at all beautiful!'

Meliande gasped. 'How _dare_ you?' She picked up her fallen arrow and nocked it. 'Thief! Murderer!' She let fly.

'I haven't murdered anyone, princess,' he growled. 'Killed in self-defence. It's not a crime to want to live!' He turned on his heel and nearly slammed into Larentius. 'See she cleans this mess up. And don't let her out of your sight!' He took Meliande by the arm and shook her. 'Stay here, don't you _dare_ leave the Eyrie!'

'Son of a bitch!'

He yanked her against him and put his mouth next to her ear. 'Daughter of a dog,' he snarled, and released her so abrupbtly she stumbled, tears of rage and hate blurring her vision.


	7. A Royal Pain

_Carellius approached the Mirror, hardly daring to let out the deep breath he'd taken the minute he'd seen it. The last of its kind, it was, and the smallest one of them all. He recalled there had once been a Mirror twice the height of a man, and twice as wide._

_He thrust out a hand, wanting to touch, knowing he shouldn't._

_'The great Carellius.' The voice was mocking, lilting, feminine. He jerked his hand back, shoved both hands into his sleeves and watched the Lady impassively as she slunk across the floor towards him, her curves not one whit concealed under her dress of silk like quicksilver. He swallowed._

_She smiled. 'It is said there is nothing you cannot teach. But what of learning? Perhaps there is still something to teach _you_, mage.' Her eyes flickered to the Mirror. 'Why don't you take a look, Carellius?'_

_He hesitated, then put his hand out again. She was right. There were secrets a Mirror could reveal, answers to questions he'd only ever asked in the privacy of his mind._

_As he moved, he felt the point of the mage-knife imprint against his skin through his shirt. That's what he'd come for. To destroy, not to look!_

_'If I look, I will be enslaved, witch, like you and all others who have ever been foolish enough to use a Mirror!' He flexed his fingers and drew the knife into his hand. 'That is the first lesson I ever learned, and the most important. Don't think to make me forget that lesson!'_

_She sidled up close, her breath soft and warm on his cheek. He stiffened. Resolved or not, he would have to maintain an iron will against her or she would persuade him to look._

_The Lady drew one languid finger along his jaw, her cheek against his. What her other hand was doing, he did not want to think about._

_'Lady, I am...'_

_'You are not made of stone, Carellius,' she breathed. 'One look? One...little...look? What harm did looking ever do?'_

_He knew the answer to that. Slavery! He shoved her away from him and drew the knife. With his other hand he called up ice, let it crackle along his veins and outward over the floor. She squeaked and danced backwards; to touch that ice would be to become ice, and crack, or melt, if he chose to send fire after it. She knew he could. She'd seen him destroy others who'd owned Mirrors, directly before he'd destroyed the Mirrors themselves. And so far he'd evaded assassination. So far._

_But she'd grown in power since then, and had learned how to use her Mirror. _Her_ Mirror, the last, had one thing the others had not had. She called him now, using the ancient Limean invocation that called the spirit of the last Mirror Lord directly into her sight._

_'What do you want of me?' His voice was weary, half annoyed and half sorrowful._

_'Karim Asayle! This puny mage seeks to destroy your prison! You know what will happen if he does!'_

_Carellius looked at the Mirror in shock. 'Karim Asayle?' He laughed suddenly, the laughter fading as abruptly as it had come. 'You've imprisoned Karim Asayle, the last Mirror Lord? You stupid bitch, what have you _done_?' He raised the knife, bringing it down with a force that would have broken any lesser item, but the blow merely glanced off the Mirror's surface and sprang back. Carellius dropped it, pain contorting his features. He grasped his shattered wrist and sank to his knees, his conjured ice retreating into his body. He channelled it into the broken bone, numbing the pain, but the Lady picked up the knife with a self-satisfied smirk._

_She looked at the Mirror Lord. 'Well?' she asked him. 'Shall I?'_

_'Do what you will, Elisabeta, I care not.'_

_She rolled her eyes. He'd always been indifferent. No matter how hard she'd tried to build and nurture their relationship, he remained dismissive of her. That irked. 'Maybe I should have let him, after all,' she muttered, but there was no conviction to her regret._

_Instead, she called her own magic and crafted shackles of fire for the injured mage. He gasped and writhed, but with a broken wrist bone he could no longer channel his magic. A man had to be whole and hale to work elemental magic, and the Lady giggled to think that his injury was his own doing._

_She leaned close to him once more and waved his knife under his nose. 'Pathetic lot of circus conjurers and travelling tricksters,' she sneered. 'I am going to order the execution of every last Limean whoreson who sets foot in Jaille! What do you think of that, Carellius? Because of you, your counrtymen must die. If you'd left well alone...'_

_'I am sworn to destroy evil magery, and your Mirror is such,' he whispered, grey with pain. 'If I don't, then someone else will. None of us will rest until that thing is destroyed.'_

_'Yes,' she said with a mirthless smile, 'and that's why I am going to kill you all. I thought I made that clear! I'll start with you, mage. You can hang tomorrow. This evening! Why wait - _now_!'_

_He said nothing. There was little point. He glared at the Mirror Lord, who stared impassively back. There had been four, all great mages once, and one by one they'd died, killed by Limean sorcerers who said that the Mirrors were slavery to anyone who used them. Three lords dead was a small price to pay to save so many souls from incarceration, subservient to a darker power than any mage or God could devise. Four ancient lords of wind and fire, ice and storm. Enurien, Liriel, Andaluven and the last, Karim. Karim Asayle. The word was Karoni, and meant overlord. Carellius wondered at that. Where was Karim, where had he been hiding all these years? Karon? The mage didn't think it possible. It was impossible to hide in Karon!_

_He died that evening on a makeshift gallows outside the city walls, and hoped that his young student Lucianus Alexander would escape the Lady's terrible new law._

* * *

><p>The Rising of the Moon opened its doors at dawn and didn't shut them again until the moon set, in direct contradiction to its name. A neat, low building of white-washed walls and red-tiled roof, it occupied a shallow valley in the hills just outside Tarnbreck, rolling farmland and orderly orchards providing not only an idyllic setting for those wishing to relax after a hard day's toil, but most of the produce it used in its varied and potent brews, the most famous being its apple brandy. A full cup of it sat now before Alexander, whilst several empty cups were ranged alongside it.<p>

The landlord loomed above Alexander and gathered up the empty cups with a disapproving twist of his mouth. A long scar ran from temple to chin, narrowly missing his left eye, and a matching scar marred his right arm. Skerni had once been a slaver, and though Alexander knew that past, he chose to ignore it in favour of the man's brews and hospitality. And for keeping his mouth shut about who lived in Tarnbreck.

'What do you think of it then, Lucian?' Skerni asked. 'Barrelled-off only yesterday, might not be settled yet mind.'

'It's not your best,' Alexander mumbled. 'Thick head. Too prangy. Like the juice from a tart's...'

'I did say it might not be settled! And what by Lord Fell's arse is _prangy_?' He picked up Alexander's cup and sniffed it, then took a delicate sip, rolling the brandy around on his tongue and looking skyward as he did, as if to find inspiration from the heavens. 'Tastes alright to me,' he concluded as he swallowed. 'Not _prangy_ in the slightest.'

'Prangy,' Alexander slurred, 'means tart, but sallow, full of yeast. When did you say you'd barrelled-off?'

'Yesterday. And the full of yeast thing? _Not damned settled_! Can't be that bad, you've had five cups!'

Alexander hiccupped. 'Four. You've had most of the fifth.'

'You here for any real reason, or just to piss me off?' Skerni slammed the cup back onto the table and glowered ferociously at his customer. Alexander had had his head down, and his eyes and mouth too, from the minute he'd slouched in. The look was of sullen annoyance, not moping and misery, or Skerni would have assumed there was a girl involved. 'You look fair mazed. What's up?'

'Nothing. I came to drown my sorrows in your potent alcoholic nectar, and what do I get? Skruggans!'

'The dregs is all you're fit for, and don't abuse the language of my people like that or I'll throw you in the pig-trough!' The landlord sat down and poured himself a cup of the virgin brandy. 'Come on. Out with it. You'll be impossible until you do.'

Alexander sighed. 'I've met a girl,' he said. It was best to err on the side of caution. He'd known Skerni a long time, but the fact remained that he was Limean and the landlord was Karoni - a natural enemy of anyone who might be sold to the Queen of Jaille for a tidy profit. To trust him completely would be to put his head in a noose.

Skerni grinned. 'Ah, I thought it might be that. Who is she?'

'Er...Ellinora. A lovely lass - and a right Royal pain in the arse.'

'As are all women,' Skerni said sagely. 'I should know! Half my merchandise was female, back when I ran the slaver-routes. Some of them even tried to make me fall for them, practicing their feminine wiles and wotnot, hoping I'd addle my wits in taking my pleasure of them. Of course, I'm sharper than that. I had my wicked way and sold them on.'

_Bloody evil cocky swine! I should punch him_...Alexander shook his head. He had to resist that urge, or Skerni would certainly go straight into Jaille and sell him to the Lady. 'You know I disapprove of slavery, Skerni my friend,' he said instead, waggling a half-stern finger in front of his friend's face. 'Don't make me thrash you for such disrespect!'

'Don't tell me you don't have whores in Limea,' Skerni shrugged. He rose and took up the empty cups once more. 'I'll be at the bar if you need me, Lucian. Enjoy your _skruggans_!'

Alexander watched him go. He let out the growl that had slunk into his throat, along with the muttered words, 'we _don't_ have whores in Limea.'


	8. The Kindling of Flames

Meliande squinted along the arrow shaft, her target thirty feet through the trees and difficult to spot in the dappled sunlight. She considered herself a good archer, but her practice had been in open fields, in competitions. Not in the middle of a forest where shadows and sunlight danced, distorting vision and confusing the brain into thinking that what it saw was something else. Alexander had decided she needed the practice, and so here she was, side-by-side with Flavian and fiercely competitive.

She let fly, her arrow swift and true, and was gratified to hear a low whistle of approval escape Flavian's lips.

'Well done,' he said. 'You've caught us dinner!' He slipped through the undergrowth to fetch back the rabbit she'd shot, pinned to a tree by its ears. He held it up with a grin. 'That was one of the more difficult shots I've ever seen anyone pull off.'

'Why, thank you, Flavian,' she said graciously. She eyed her rabbit with a mixture of interest and distaste. 'I suppose now you're going to tell me I've got to skin it and gut it.'

'All part of the job,' he nodded. 'You can't eat it with its fur still on after all. Have you had enough for today or shall we go back to the Eyrie?'

'Eyrie.' It was getting late, and her feet ached, her knees too from all the crouching in forest undergrowth stalking rabbits. She fell into step beside Flavian, at ease in his company but with nothing to say. It was Alexander who was on her mind.

And it was Alexander who was waiting for her back at the Eyrie, his green eyes hooded and full of secrets. It maddened her that he had secrets, that he kept himself hidden, shut away from all her dissembling and prying. She intended to turn him upside down and inside out, just to know who he was.

The last step of the way up to the caves was the way she'd first come, having fallen down the ravine. She went up now as fleet as a squirrel, with Flavian behind her, his hand out to steady her should she slip. He pushed her up the last scrambling, steep steps, then hauled himself up behind using the low hazel branches that half hid the path.

He held out her rabbit to her just as Alexander rose from his perch to greet them.

'Hers?' Alexander's fine gold brows shot up, and he looked Meliande over with approval mixed with amusement. 'Good shot.'

'Pinned him through the ears,' chuckled Flavian. 'We'll have a nice unmarked pelt to barter too, come winter.'

Meliande allowed pride to swell her chest. She'd seen the piles of soft pelts ready to be sold or bartered come winter when game and grain was scarce to be had. The outlaws hunted anything that walked the forest, from the small brown woodland rabbits to the great silver wolves that prowled the higher reaches of the Eyrie. She wanted to bring down one of those majestic creatures, had wanted to hunt and kill her very own wolf ever since she'd been old enough to hold a bow and had seen her father's royal hunters bring back carcass after carcass of the hated, feared, and revered beasts. Without thinking, she voiced that desire.

'I shall bring a wolf in, one day,' she announced proudly to Alexander.

He laughed. 'I hope not. They leave us alone, and we do not bother them, in return.' He turned away, his enthusiasm for other things, like an easy life, drowning out the wild, feral nature she just _knew_ he had hidden in him. Somewhere. It was there, _somewhere_, and she wanted to see it! A man who could command fire had to have wildfire somewhere inside him, embers of fury just waiting to roar into flame. She ran after him and tugged his sleeve.

'Don't you ever think of anything other than brandy and thievery?' she demanded. 'Where's your sense of adventure? Where's your _pride_?'

'Haven't got any,' he said, and shrugged her hand off his arm. '_Pride_ gets people killed. And adventures aren't what they're cracked up to be. Adventures _also_ get people killed!'

'You live in the Eyrie!'

'Yes, and that's adventure enough for me!' His eyes blazed at her, full of light and passion. He grinned. 'You haven't been here long enough to appreciate what_ life_ means. You haven't been cowering in fear of strangers long enough to know that all you really want is peace and a quiet life!' He waggled a finger under her nose. 'Go after those wolves, Meliande, and I'll flay your hide and tan it myself! Now there's an end to it!'

She let him go this time, when he stalked off into the trees with his nose in the air and an aura of offended pride misting his presence.

* * *

><p>He relented the next morning, when he rose from his sleep and found her on her knees scrubbing the rock of the cave floor. She'd decided that instead of trying to prove him wrong about her, she'd prove him right instead. This revelation unnerved him, and he hovered around the hearth, not knowing what to do, until she slapped the soapy brush down at his feet and forced him to move.<p>

'Fire,' she said irritably. 'Why don't you light the fire?'

He flung a small dart of flame at the dry kindling laid ready in the hearth, and stood back out of her way.

After a few more moments of nothing but the crackle of new flame and the _swish-swish_ of the scrubbing brush, curiosity got the better of him. She'd known it would, and smiled to herself when he asked, 'What are you doing?'

'Cleaning, Lucian Alexander, and if you don't mind I'd like to do it in peace!' She whacked the brush down again, near his feet, and again he was forced to hop out of the way or have his boots shined along with the floor. He thought, morbidly, that it was beginning to resemble the Lady's great Mirror. He banished that thought.

Again the brush came down near his feet, sending a shower of suds up his legs like a flurry of snow stirred by the winter wind. Despite the fire, valiantly flaring avery time he came near as if to show it would make the effort for him but it was a losing battle, the cave was cold. A chill had settled over the princess as she laboured on her knees. He wondered if she'd upset Felix somehow, and it was Felix's ice he was feeling, but he couldn't detect anything of the young man in the wintry atmosphere. Felix's cold was the bright sparkle of azure above snow-hills, the scatter of diamond drops of melting ice as it descended from heaven to the earth. This cold was leaden and dull, a dark melancholy that crept into the heart and laid hold like iron shackles. Grey. Miserable.

'What on earth is the matter?' he asked, suddenly alarmed. 'This is not like you! Who has put you up to this?'

She gave her answer with a violent administration of soap suds to the floor, scrubbing as if she'd scrub the rock smooth as glass. 'No-one put me up to it! You've just decided I am to be nothing more than a skivvy for you lot, telling me nothing, giving nothing away, and yet still wanting me to _trust_ you! It works both ways, Alexander. You don't trust me, do you? You think I would run back to_ her_ squealing like a pig, and tell her everything I know, if only I knew anything to tell!'

The fire went out, as startled Alexander hopped out of the way of the vengeful brush a fourth time. 'And you have lived all your life with the Lady and do not know her! Tell me, princess, how many Limean men were hanged?'

She sat up on her knees and looked at him properly for the first time that morning. 'There were very few hangings. I only remember one in particular.'

'Carellius, my old tutor. He was the first. Very few hangings, you say. Too bloody many, _I_ say.' His mouth turned down and his eyes darkened with sorrow, no longer a gold-flecked sunny green. There was thunder brewing behind those eyes, and she knew enough of him now to know the signs. If she wasn't careful, she would send him into a thunderous temper and _then_, everything he touched would blister and burn.

'I meant,' she said in an attempt to mollify him, 'that I'd thought there were far more Limeans in Jaille than were hanged. I thought we'd have caught more.'

If she'd meant that to calm the hot air simmering between them, then it failed miserably. Alexander turned his back on her and made to leave, but she was up off the floor in an instant and caught at his arm, arresting his retreat.

'Lucian, wait! I didn't mean that I thought we _should_ have caught...'

'Best leave it, princess!' he snapped back. 'Because of your Queen's evil laws, I lost friends. If you think too few were hanged, I knew every single one of them.' He prised her hand from him and folded his arms. 'And of those who got out of Jaille with me are condemned to an outlaw's existence.' He turned to go again, but she wouldn't have it.

'You could have gone back to Limea.'

'From which port?' He rounded on her now, his colour up and his fists unconsciously clenched. 'All Jailli ports were closed. I could go to Eshkaron and take a ship from there, as long as I don't mind a detour round the Haeri Straits and as long as the ship's not intercepted by pirates who would just take me back to Jaille. Or I could go across the land to Southern Karon and take a ship from there, if I'm not drowned halfway and the ship sunk by icestorms before we've got half way. I could go to Eshkaron and wonder when I'm going to be handed over to the Lady every day of my life, or I could wander into the desert and take my chances with the slave caravans.'

He folded his arms and glowered. Meliande looked up at him, hugging herself as faint protection against his anger.

'So you came here,' she said finally, her voice small in her ears. 'Will you ever be able to go back?'

'Back? To Limea, or Jaille?'

'Either.' It didn't matter, did it? 'Anywhere else but here.'

He didn't answer, and looking up at his face, she saw his eyes hooded, their secrets shut away from her.

She went back to her scrubbing, defeated. 'So you'll skulk here until the end of your days.'

'Or hers.' He went to the hearth, let a little fledgling flame trickle from his finger into the still-smoking wood. 'Maybe even yours.'

'If I get my throne back, then you get your freedom back,' she said, and felt the cooling breeze of a promise blow out the hostility between them. It was a start.


	9. The Mirror Never Lies

Erwillian watched with his heart in his mouth as the Lady took the silver cask from him, as she had taken another cask, so many years ago, from a trader who had brought her the most precious thing he could find. Her expression was the same now as then, the lust in her eyes darkening them to a lustrous black, and not for the first time he wished he was not the Royal Hunter. He could have been nothing, nothing but a plaything for women like her. He had black curls that sat neat and shimmering on his collar, and skin smooth and olive. Large eyes like dark almonds dominated his face, full of life and intelligence. An aquiline nose took the edge off his girlishness, made him handsome instead of pretty, and a smattering of dark stubble along his delicate jaw gave him a rakish look. His limbs were sleek, his belly flat, and his nipples pointed and brown in a smooth chest. Even as a slave he'd been indulged because of his looks, and once freed, on the whim of a love-struck noblewoman, he rose quickly in the Jailli Queen's palace to become Royal Hunter, because he had more than looks going for him.

_I should have gone to Karon_, he thought miserably. _She will see right through my ruse. She will not believe..._

Elisabeta had flipped open the cask's lid and recoiled in disgust, shielding her nose from the stench within with her silk sleeve. He held his breath.

'Why...Erwillian,' she choked on his name as its utterance forced her to take a breath, inhaling the reek of the decaying pig's heart within. 'This is...truly...hers?'

'Yes, my Queen.'

_He lies, she is thinking, he lies!_

'Very well. I didn't expect you to actually do it. I thought, that since all men's eyes follow her like moonstruck calves, that you would be the same. Did you take your pleasure of her, before the knife?'

The question caught him off guard, and shocked him, inexplicably, to the core. 'No, my Queen! It..I...'

'Oh, Erwillian!' She laughed gaily and set the casket aside, its lid firmly back in place. She shifted on her bed, tucked her legs under her and hid them in the generous folds of her silken skirts. Erwillian swallowed. The Lady's glance flickered to his groin, then to her great Mirror, hanging like judge and jury and executioner above his head. 'So, now I am the fairest in the land, once again, due to your loyalty and your devotion to me,' she said. Her lashes lowered, and her glance stole upward through them. 'One way to find out for sure, though, Erwillian, isn't there?'

_Nononono! No, she couldn't, please, please_...outwardly, he stiffened his spine. 'You are, and have always been, to me, the fairest,' he said stoically, as the shadows crept in and took hold of his sinking heart.

She said nothing, only shot him a stare so full of iron and ice that he felt it like a blow to his belly. 'We shall see, Erwillian.'

But even as he made again his assertion that she was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, he knew the Mirror would give another answer, and with it, seal his fate. He never felt the executioner's axe fall on his neck, severing sinew from bone in a spatter of bright blood. The darkness took him the moment she asked that fateful question, her voice ringing like a funeral bell around her marble chamber.

'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?'

* * *

><p>Alexander woke wrapped in sheets soaked in his own sweat, gone cold with the wind that howled through the trees and gusted into his sleeping chamber. The dream, if it had been that and not a vision, still stalked the halls of his mind like a fading shadow, and if it had unnerved him before, now it only puzzled him. He'd been standing on a beach where the wind blew warm, but no waves moved, no sound broke the silence. To his right was a house, a house of stone and steel, and he knew he'd come from there though he had no recollection of ever having been anywhere but the beach. Inside was a secret, knowledge of something he'd forgotten and knew he should not have. Had he not woken, he could have learned what it was. Perhaps. It touched the edges of his mind, probed at the closed places, and he tried to grasp it but it slinked off into the night, sniggering at his stupidity and arrogance that wouldn't let it in.<p>

He wiped sleep from his eyes and threw off the sheets, stepping naked onto the cold floor. Snores came from another chamber, and he knew them for Flavian's. Russi sat, talking in hushed tones with Taki and Felix, wrapped in his cloak near the cave entrance, supposedly on watch but having eyes for nothing and no-one but the lithe Karoni girl next to him.

Alexander approached them, hanging back in the shadows, though he let a faint glow come to his head. Where his cloak was, he didn't know, since he'd gone to bed drunk and incoherent and could not remember how he got there.

'_Three_ on watch? What's up?'

'Something out there,' Taki whispered. Her slanted eyes were, in the gloom, nothing but hollow sockets. Alexander had the unnerving sensation he was looking at a skull.

He crouched near them, no longer mindful of his nudity, and let the glow fade. 'Should I wonder why you're not out there shadowing it? Is it a _who_, or a _what_?'

Outside, there was a rustle of undergrowth, and the wind came in again with an agonising howl. Alexander sucked in his breath and flung out the wards. Tendrils of burning shadow snaked along the ground and wound their way up trees, like dark vines of power. _Not all fire burns bright_, he reminded himself. _Not all fire burns at all._

Beside him, Taki giggled. 'Put some clothes on,' she hissed. He cursed. He'd forgotten what such black flame could do to him; the thrill of summoning something that Carellius had always forbidden rushed into his blood and set it boiling. It was pleasure like no other. With an effort, he took a deep breath and tried to dispel his arousal.

Felix reached out and placed a hand on his arm. A fierce, icy chill jolted him back into the present, and turned his fire to dampened embers.

He smiled his thanks at Felix. 'One day, I'll learn to control that,' he promised.

'You should have seen me the day I learned what ice could do to me,' Felix replied. 'Or rather, when I learned what desire could do to the ice inside me. I shattered a tray of glasses the first time, my bedroom windows the second.'

'I do not want to know!' Alexander hugged his knees to his chest. 'It's still out there, whatever it is. I don't know about you, but I don't think waiting until morning to find out what it is...'

'Sh!' Russi put a finger to his lips, half-risen from his seated position. He waved the others back silently, as they too became alert and made to rise. Go back inside, he mouthed at them. Alexander sidled off into the cave and fetched his leggings, boots and tunic. Time to go out and see what it was that had found the path to the Eyrie caverns.


End file.
